(huzzah! Thankies! and I may bring Calanon in later.)

Morwen watched as Arawen moved down the row of cells. Morwen had two main jobs here. One, make sure no one escaped and two make sure no died before they were supposed to. Of Arawen she knew plenty of.. but didn't particularly fear her. Of course there were fear she did fear. But at the same time she had little pity for those that asked for trouble here and was fairly neutral about everyone else. In short? she didn't care about much except avoiding pain. That was the only reason she was at slave status now. She had learned a trick to avoiding pain.. being half-way compliant.

She watched Arawen silently, her eyes holding that faint note of disgust that vanished whenever someone looked at her. Her mind and spirit were still her own, she simply was tired of getting hurt.

Her short dark hair was pulled out of her face, as always, and she wore all black tunic and pants. No weapons... not yet. They still didn't trust her. "Morning already?" Morwen asked softly.

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(@ Will: Thanks! I love hugs. And yes, I have returned with more crazy goodness. And a little insight to Maethoriel's history.)

The woman's room was filled with smoke as was her head. There were things drawn on the floor and her dark blue cloak dragged on the ground while a knife spun ceaselessly in her hand as she paced.

Maethoriel's room was possibly the only one in Mordor that was actually made to feel somewhat comfortable. It was filled with candlelight and warm colors, not the same cold vaulting furniture with its pompous black arrogance. She had enough of that to fill her space.

It was cluttered, to be certain her papers were everywhere, along with various items - remnants of chairs, glass from vials - all strew around. But with the fireplace and smell of pipe weed came a distinctive smell of home. Her home at least...

How mad Maethoriel was was often up for debate. It could have been a show for those who would have her killed should her keen nature be revealed, or it could just come in waves. Madness was a thing hard to judge. She had survived the pits of Dol Guldur - escaped in fact. Those cells had been run by the Eye himself when he had yet to reside in Mordor, leaving his more trivial work to his minions. She had escaped far worse for the wear, and would forever be unable to shake off the marks that labeled her a prisoner - her pact had made sure of that.

She had been given a second chance, one that she selfishly took for she feared death even more so after seeing him. Her deeds in life would not grant her peace, so she would live again. Told to make herself better she found herself selfishly ruled by the need to survive - she was good at that, but now she needed help and for that help she was willing to make a few changes.

The mad woman was disturbingly normal looking in her room, no mad laughter or uncontrollable sparks of magic. Those were well left for show. The real Maethoriel, the one in her room was much more dangerous. Precise, cruel and unforgiving just as the knife spinning in her hands.

She was formulating now. The Mouth's mood had changed, something was coming for her and she needed a bit of assistance. A grin now formed and she looked at the shelf, her pacing paused for a moment. The knife stopped spinning and disappeared into a sheath. Her hand shot out and grasped a book, she thumbed through the pages with a furious speed - perhaps her calm in her sanctuary was a bit force.

She found the page and let out a relieved sigh which turned into words - fast and softly spoken, it was luck that Eye was focused less he would have felt her presence flare under his gaze. Luck indeed.

The woman felt her mind buzzing, she was expending to much energy. She snorted in derision a calling this simple should be easy, she was out of practice. Then her mind began to slip, still the words came. Then stopped. So did she.

The woman slouched upon her bed, head in her hands. It would work, her mind reassured her. The wizard owed her too much not to let it work. Still...just in case - she would ask for more help.

"Valar forgive me and send me aid," she said to the air. "I beg you," she finished, almost visibly swallowing her pride. Then she felt a sense of calm wash over her - whether from actual reassurance of those across the sea or from the pipe that she had picked up from her bedside table to draw upon could not be said.

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Heavens no. Hell Yeah.


Set 1: Nurr | Set 2: Me

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~~Siggy by Lembas~~

[ Mae - Oh I loved that last post! It was quite insightful in Maeth's character She's still scarry..

And welcome Morwen! ]

Bëor had not shifted from his place as time seemed to pass by, not even when Arawen appeared with their meal. He did not flinch when the metal door of his cell was opened nor when she looked into his eyes. "It was about time you showed up," Bëor sneered as he sat lazily against the cold wall. Frustration had welled up inside him as watched the Gondorian, whom he despised, and the only possible way to vent this frustration was through words. It was not a very wise thing to do for Bëor knew that the woman could be dangerous, but then he realised that in her heart there was only cowardice and his hatred was that moment greater than his rational state of mind.

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O children, lift up your voice, lift up your voice,
Children, rejoice, rejoice..



It doesn't matter you don't believe in God, He believes in you.

(Goldleaf: Thankies ^_^
Will: Glad to be here)

Morwen nodded a little, then watched one of the new prisoners, the 18 year old, snub the food. Most here did. It wasn't anything unusual. The half-elf moved her hair to hide her ears. she wasn't too keen on the prisoners picking up on her elven heritage. She hadn't been too keen on her captors finding out about it when that had happened. She kept her eyes on Luthien for a long minute.

'Pity she has to fight so much. Youth and a fiery spirit. Wasted in this dark hole.' Morwen felt a twinge of actual pity, but subdued it rather quickly. She had to do this with every new face. She had seen many come and go in the nigh on 200 years she had spent here. It had taken nearly 50 years of pain for Morwen to finally give.

'But that young one doesn't have the time I did. Or the time I still do have.' Her eyes then flickered to Beor. He, of the prisoners, would know the most of her as he had been present for 14 years but... he still knew precious little. After all, she had only left her spot only a handful of times. 'I wonder how much longer he will last here...'[/i]

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(Goldy: Thanks! I rather like playing the darker side of her.

Will: Thanks. I am a fan of Beor and his sarcasm.

Note: I am going to have Maeth help them escape, but I decided that she wouldn't do it if they just asked her. She would need a more substantial push so I gave her one. Hope it doesn't mess with any plans you have Goldy.)

Maethoriel lay sprawled on her bed still contemplating her actions. She needed help, but from what. There were few creatures of Mordor who could hold there own in a battle against her. Not even the Mouth's wench with her supposed assassination prowess. She killed prisoners, dignitaries without further use. Maethoriel was none of these, and it would take more than an attempted stab in the back to bring her down. The woman was trained, surely, but Maethoriel was older with far more experience in true battle than the child would see no matter if she went to the front lines this very day. She could kill her if it came right down to it, but that was not the stressor.

No, something else weighed on her mind. She feared it might be her conscience.

Her eyes closed and her head lolled to the side, letting the smoke take her away. Her mind blurred and the corporeal world was no more. She was in a space that many elves entered when they slept - one of memories of the past and dreams of the future. Choices made here often affected what one would do in the realm of the living.

There were screams, dirt turned to a dark red muddy bog that captured her feet. It always began this way, but she had learned how to walk through it - so she did. Forcing her way through the mire it gave way and her force was no longer needed so she was sent to the ground. It hurt when she landed .

"Stone..." she muttered, looking down at the white pavement under her. No, not pavement - marble, she was on a stairwell with her arms and legs akimbo in the most ridiculous fashion. Worse yet there were others there.

The woman cast a dubious, dark, perpetually hollow and rimmed with evidence of unrest and a scarred brow quirked upward. A coronation, she recognized that as a tall, weathered man, with a smile that said he was victorious stood before her.

"A dream," she muttered, brushing herself off and standing near the man her mind created as a pair of old hands set the crown on him.

"New for certain," she said aloud and feeling uncomfortable with the happy air the dream was filled with she willed herself to be somewhere else.

Nowhere. More conclusions were drawn then, if this were a dream she would be where she wished. But she remained in this sickeningly joyous occasion. Bile rose in her throat.

"A sending," she said aloud and she took in more of the people, and stepped down the stairs as she saw an old man with blue eyes look at her. Maethoriel opened her mouth to speak to him and cast a curse at him, but the sending changed again to a more familiar setting. There was Arawen walking down the halls of Mordor and then flashes of the faces of prisoners whose names she did not care to know.

She yelled in the dark, but there was no clear pattern to it - a jumble of different languages. Then another flash of the dark haired woman who had potential for good and ill.

A voice, deep, commanding - at first she thought it was the wizard's, but not even he was strong enough to create so vibrant a sending.

"A deal, Narylfiel," the voice in the dark advised, and she knew he was smiling though she could not see the owner. The only voice who could truly make her cower - her prayer had been answered, but he that answered was not entirely welcome in her mind.

"I have made too many blood oaths, there is nothing left to make," she said - her voice was a cracked sob, she hated this voice. He made her feel things she never wanted again.

"One of honor, not magic," he scolded and she winced appropriately.

"With who?" She asked, feeling like a child for she knew the answer was probably laid in front of her.

The woman's question went unanswered as she was woke from her false sleep. Her clothes were wet with her cold sweat, and her eyes were red both from inadvertent tears that had been caused by the dream. The cold did little to bother her, but she shuddered from the memory. She did not like what the sending suggested she do. It would mean taking a side, a real side. And with that people would call into question everything she had done, they would want to try her when it was over and she would not escape the noose.

Or maybe...she grinned and pulled herself together and as she stood she chose a side, there was more to the sending that just news of her impending doom - the Valar do not send ill tiding wrapped in pretty packages. There was hope - and it was the first time she'd let herself feel it.

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Heavens no. Hell Yeah.


Set 1: Nurr | Set 2: Me

(Goldy: Thanks! I rather like playing the darker side of her.

Will: Thanks. I am a fan of Beor and his sarcasm.

Morwen: Welcome to the group!

Note: I am going to have Maeth help them escape, but I decided that she wouldn't do it if they just asked her. She would need a more substantial push so I gave her one. Hope it doesn't mess with any plans you have Goldy.)

Maethoriel lay sprawled on her bed still contemplating her actions. She needed help, but from what. There were few creatures of Mordor who could hold there own in a battle against her. Not even the Mouth's wench with her supposed assassination prowess. She killed prisoners, dignitaries without further use. Maethoriel was none of these, and it would take more than an attempted stab in the back to bring her down. The woman was trained, surely, but Maethoriel was older with far more experience in true battle than the child would see no matter if she went to the front lines this very day. She could kill Arawen if it came right down to it, but that was not the stressor.

No, something else weighed on her mind. She feared it might be her conscience.

Her eyes closed and her head lolled to the side, letting the smoke take her away. Her mind blurred and the corporeal world was no more. She was in a space that many elves entered when they slept - one of memories of the past and dreams of the future. Choices made here often affected what one would do in the realm of the living.

There were screams, dirt turned to a dark red muddy bog that captured her feet. It always began this way, but she had learned how to walk through it - so she did. Forcing her way through the mire it gave way and her force was no longer needed so she was sent to the ground. It hurt when she landed .

"Stone..." she muttered, looking down at the white pavement under her. No, not pavement - marble, she was on a stairwell with her arms and legs akimbo in the most ridiculous fashion. Worse yet there were others there.

The woman cast a dubious, dark, perpetually hollow and rimmed with evidence of unrest and a scarred brow quirked upward. A coronation, she recognized that as a tall, weathered man, with a smile that said he was victorious stood before her.

"A dream," she muttered, brushing herself off and standing near the man her mind created as a pair of old hands set the crown on him.

"New for certain," she said aloud and feeling uncomfortable with the happy air the dream was filled with she willed herself to be somewhere else.

Nowhere. More conclusions were drawn then, if this were a dream she would be where she wished. But she remained in this sickeningly joyous occasion. Bile rose in her throat.

"A sending," she said aloud and she took in more of the people, and stepped down the stairs as she saw an old man with blue eyes look at her. Maethoriel opened her mouth to speak to him and cast a curse at him, but the sending changed again to a more familiar setting. There was Arawen walking down the halls of Mordor and then flashes of the faces of prisoners whose names she did not care to know.

She yelled in the dark, but there was no clear pattern to it - a jumble of different languages. Then another flash of the dark haired woman who had potential for good and ill.

A voice, deep, commanding - at first she thought it was the wizard's, but not even he was strong enough to create so vibrant a sending.

"A deal, Narylfiel," the voice in the dark advised, and she knew he was smiling though she could not see the owner. The only voice who could truly make her cower - her prayer had been answered, but he that answered was not entirely welcome in her mind.

"I have made too many blood oaths, there is nothing left to make," she said - her voice was a cracked sob, she hated this voice. He made her feel things she never wanted again.

"One of honor, not magic," he scolded and she winced appropriately.

"With who?" She asked, feeling like a child for she knew the answer was probably laid in front of her.

The woman's question went unanswered as she was woke from her false sleep. Her clothes were wet with her cold sweat, and her eyes were red both from inadvertent tears that had been caused by the dream. The cold did little to bother her, but she shuddered from the memory. She did not like what the sending suggested she do. It would mean taking a side, a real side. And with that people would call into question everything she had done, they would want to try her when it was over and she would not escape the noose.

Or maybe...she grinned and pulled herself together and as she stood she chose a side, there was more to the sending that just news of her impending doom - the Valar do not send ill tiding wrapped in pretty packages. There was hope - and it was the first time she'd let herself feel it.

_________________
Heavens no. Hell Yeah.


Set 1: Nurr | Set 2: Me

[ Mae: Oh this should become interesting! You've shown more of Maethoriel's good side than I've seen before. I knew she still possessed some goodness, very deep inside And I think that she will receive alot of sarcasm from Bëor's side when she joins them ]

_________________


O children, lift up your voice, lift up your voice,
Children, rejoice, rejoice..



It doesn't matter you don't believe in God, He believes in you.

_________________


~~Siggy by Lembas~~

Morwen gave a slightly annoyed sigh, but turned to go do so, mutely.She made her way to the kitchens and grabbed the bottle that was out and waiting. She sighed and braced herself for a meeting she didn't want.

Making her way up to the room went all too quickly, and those who saw her stayed out of her way. Mostly because her expression spoke loudly of one who did not want to be messed with.

She got to the door and grimaced, then knocked on it sharply, a trademark that had not faded with the years. All there was to do now was wait. Her normally blue-green eyes were mostly gray from dislike of the upcoming situation.

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Beör held Arawen's cold gaze for long and answered it with a look of deep contempt. He wanted to show the weak-willed girl how much he hated her. He had been there when she was brought in; he'd been there for long and he remembered it clearly. A stubborn girl, Arawen was then and Beör noticed a scary resemblance between her back then and Luthien. But Arawen did not last long, with disgust Beör had watched how the Gondorian quickly became the trusted servant of the Enemy. He had witnessed that she was capable of evil.
Beör's bright eyes shifted to Morwen, who'd been in the cursed place as long as he remembered. She never spoke and Beör supposed she was just another will-less creature who'd sold her sould to the enemy in order to live.
Bëor thoughts were interrupted by Luthien's sudden outburst. Like a statue Beör just watched the scene, with just a flicker of sarcasm in his eyes. When Arawen had turned on heel, Beör shook his head. "You just overdid it," he said mockingly.
Then he turned his attention to his plate. Contrary to Luthien, he did not snub the food, and immediately started to wolf down his food.

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O children, lift up your voice, lift up your voice,
Children, rejoice, rejoice..



It doesn't matter you don't believe in God, He believes in you.

(O.o I missed a lot.)

Rayelin watched silently as the meal came, eating it without complaint. She had been used to it for a while. She didn't join in the bandied comments and insults today; there was little point, she had found, and she was in a quiet mood today. She sighed as Luthien snapped pointed barbs of insults at Arawen, producing little effect. Her words needed to be better chosen--and likely more subtle, more painful. Anything obvious would bounce off, deflected by one who was expecting it.

"I see we have returned to bickering amongst ourselves," she said pointedly. "As this is progressing, we will likely still be in here until it's too late to make a difference. If you haven't forgotten the fact that there is indeed increased activity up above..."

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^ Sig set by Goldy!

(*poke* don't diiiie!)

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[ I think it's Goldy's turn to post. ]

_________________


O children, lift up your voice, lift up your voice,
Children, rejoice, rejoice..



It doesn't matter you don't believe in God, He believes in you.

[Bump? ]

_________________


O children, lift up your voice, lift up your voice,
Children, rejoice, rejoice..



It doesn't matter you don't believe in God, He believes in you.

(.....does no one have anything to post? *sigh*)

_________________

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